The Lightning-Struck Tower
by Afrojack
Summary: Motivated by his failure to protect Dumbledore in the cave, Harry vows to save him atop the Astronomy Tower on the night that Draco allows the Death Eaters to infiltrate Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_As they flew over the dark, twisting lane down which they had walked earlier, Harry heard, over the whistling of the night air in his ears, Dumbledore muttering in some strange language again. He thought he understood why as he felt his broom shudder for a moment when they flew over the boundary wall into the grounds: Dumbledore was undoing the enchantments he himself had set around the castle, so that they could enter at speed._

The Dark Mark glittered ominously overhead, and Dumbledore had already crossed the crenellated ramparts of the tower. Harry landed seconds later, and looked around. The ramparts were deserted, and the door to the spiral staircase leading back into the castle was closed.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked, looking up at the green skull glinting evilly above them. "Has someone definitely been – Professor?"

"Go and wake Severus," said Dumbledore faintly, clutching at his chest. "Tell him what has happened, and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody, and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here."

"But—"

"You swore to obey me, Harry – go!"

Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard the sound of distant footsteps on the other side. He looked around at Dumbledore, who gestured for him to retreat. Harry drew his wand and backed away, hiding himself beneath the Cloak.

Suddenly, he felt his body go rigid and immobile, and he fell against the wall, silent and unmoving. Motionless beneath the Cloak, Harry could do nothing. He felt stifled in its fabric, flushed with shame and exhaustion, and for the second time in a single night, he would be unable to protect his mentor. Imprisoned within the confines of his own body, he was forced to watch as Dumbledore slid down the low wall of the highest tower.

The seconds seemed to stretch like hours as Harry struggled in speechless futility, before the sound of racing footsteps drowned out the labored rasp of shallow breath. The doors were thrown open, and his sadness became rage as Draco Malfoy rushed out, wand in hand.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Dumbledore did not resist as his wand was ripped from his hand, and Harry nearly gave himself away as the binding spell was broken, and he regained control of his limbs. In an instant, Harry had emerged from under the Cloak, and Malfoy raised his wand too late to stop the spell.

Dumbledore wheezed, and sat up in alarm as he saw Harry step from beneath the Cloak. "Harry, wait—"

"_EXPELLIARMUS!_" Harry bellowed.

His eyes widened as the spell, augmented by rage and malice, roared viciously from his wand, but he did not stop to watch as the spell hit, launching Malfoy through the air and over the edge of the tower at breakneck speeds. Turning quickly, Harry stretched his arm out into the night.

"No!" Dumbledore's voice was a broken whisper, and Harry could not hear it over the wind rushing in his ears.

"_Accio!_"

For the second time in as many minutes, footsteps echoed in the stairwell, signaling the approach of not one, but many individuals, and Harry waited on the wand, hoping against hope-

"DUMBLEDORE…" screeched an eerily-echoing, sing-song voice, dragging out the words. "WHERE ARE YOU…?"

Harry's skin crawled, and he felt rage burning in the pit of his stomach as he heard the deranged voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. His godfather's murderer was at Hogwarts.

The thunderous clamor of Death Eaters climbing the stairs had intensified, and Harry pocketed his holly wand as Dumbledore's sailed majestically into his hand. The gnarled wood was frigid as it settled in his grip, and cold resolve coursed through his veins as he turned to face the door. Dumbledore would live.

"Draco, we've arrived! Where—"

Bellatrix froze, going perfectly still as she processed the scene before her eyes. A sadistic snarl split her lips, and she slashed her wand viciously at him.

"_CRUCIO!_"

Harry raised the wand, and a blazing shield of bright blue light expanded between them, reflecting the spell with redoubled force. The curse slammed into Bellatrix, and Harry understood with startling clarity what she had said to him just a year before, in the wreckage of the Atrium.

He grit his teeth as her wretched screams echoed in the night, and watched as the other Death Eaters stepped in, wands raised in alarm. Bellatrix had fallen to her knees, doubled over with incessant convulsions and howling in senseless agony. There was a visible tension in the Death Eaters as the four of them spread out, and Harry did not drop his Shield.

"What's wrong with her?" demanded one of the Death Eaters, shoving Bellatrix behind her as she approached Harry.

"Who cares?" muttered a rangy Death Eater near the edge of the group. He had a low, grating voice, and he reeked of filth, sweat, and blood. "We'll sort her out later."

The Death Eaters eventually focused their attention on Dumbledore, sneering at him as he leaned against the wall of the Tower for support. His breathing had grown shallower than before, and he hardly moved as he sat crouched behind Harry.

"What, Dumbledore cornered? And only Potter to protect him?" jeered a fat Death Eater at the back of the formation. "Where's Draco?"

"Good evening, Amycus," Dumbledore murmured weakly, now hardly audible. "I see you've brought Alecto too ... charming ..."

"Think it's funny, do you?" jeered the woman on the far left, presumably Alecto. "Joking on your deathbed?"

"Jokes? No, no, these are manners," answered Dumbledore.

Alecto spat viciously is his direction. "Just kill him already."

The nearest Death Eater stepped forward, and Harry's brow furrowed as the rugged, greasy, stubble-ridden features were revealed, yellowed fangs and all. Bellatrix had settled on a quiet, sobbing moan, and smoke drifted from her quivering, malnourished body as it coiled in fetal humiliation.

"Fenrir Greyback…" muttered Dumbledore, seemingly in disbelief. "Is that you?"

"I wouldn't miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore, "Greyback rasped, spittle flying from his maw."Not when there are dainty little throats to be eaten... I could even do you for afters, if you like."

"There is little in this world I would rather avoid," croaked Dumbledore, breathing laboriously. "Nor do I think you would find the taste enjoyable, given the circumstances."

"Can't defend him now, Potter," taunted Greyback, licking his teeth obscenely. "He's old meat."

Harry remained silent.

Greyback shrugged, and drew his wand. "Guess I'll have to kill you too, then."

At that moment, the doors to the ramparts were flung open once again, and there stood Snape, clutching his wand as his black eyes swept the scene. Harry felt his face twist into an almost inhuman expression of fury and disbelief as Snape shouldered his way through the line of Death Eaters.

"Where is Draco?" he demanded, the displeasure and hatred on his face deepening intensely as his eyes reached Harry.

"Missing in action," Greyback growled, "and Bellatrix, well—"

"Severus…" Dumbledore was pleading, and Harry was almost beside himself with rage.

Snape said nothing, but shoved Greyback aside, and the Death Eaters fell back without a word. Even the werewolf seemed cowed. Snape stepped forward, hatred and revulsion etched into every line of his face, and raised his wand.

"Severus…please…"

Harry looked at Dumbledore, and dropped his shield.

"_AVADA_—"

_Incendio!_

Before Snape could even finish the incantation, Harry had unleashed a searing inferno. The Astronomy Tower burnt like a monstrous candle in the night, and he stood with Dumbledore in the eye of a hellish firestorm. Ragged screeches pierced his ears, and the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils as the Death Eaters perished.


	2. Damage Control

Harry flicked his wand, and the towering flames died away. Snape emerged slowly from the billowing clouds of smoke, robes singed, drenched, and dripping excess water, surrounded by rapidly evaporating puddles. The corpses of the Death Eaters sizzled repulsively, charred beyond recognition.

"You picked an awful time to reveal your extremely well-hidden competence, Potter!" Snape snarled savagely, seemingly incoherent with rage. He waved his wand distractedly, and instantly dried his robes.

"Severus…" muttered Dumbledore, voice broken with fatigue, "you must take me to my office."

"What?" Harry shouted in disbelief, unable to understand what he was hearing. "Sir, he just tried to kill you!"

"Harry—"

"You need Madame Pomfrey!"

"You promised to do as I bid you," Dumbledore replied, short of breath. "I will explain everything to you in my office."

Face pallid and drawn, Dumbledore looked as though he had already died. His ashen features glowed with a clammy pallor in the waning light of the moon, and his blackened hand shuddered and twitched as he clutched it to his chest.

"She cannot help me now, Harry," wheezed Dumbledore, just above a whisper. "Professor Snape has an unparalleled understanding of potions and curses, and I can assure you with certainty that he is_ on your side_. We must hurry, Severus. Things have changed."

Glaring at Harry with absolute hatred, Snape helped Dumbledore to his feet, and supported him as they swept away in a whirl of inky robes. Harry followed in their wake, struggling to process his thoughts and emotions now that it was over.

Draco Malfoy had almost certainly fallen to his death, and Harry could not seem to escape the stench of smoldering corpses. He had saved Dumbledore, but he could not repress the thought of all those Death Eaters, trailing acrid smoke on the roof of the tower, under the lurid glow of the Mark.

"Hurry _up_, Potter!" shouted Snape from down the corridor. "We don't have time for that nonsense!"

Harry followed, and thought of Voldemort. He already knew. His scar prickled and burned, and from what seemed to be the other side of a vast, silent ocean, he felt the violent rage and displeasure of his enemy. His fury was dreadful, but it seemed no more than a vapid whisper to the rampant clamor of his mind.

The sounds of battle echoed up to them from below as they traversed the otherwise silent corridors, but Harry had a feeling it was already over. If any Death Eaters remained, they would be scattered quickly, unorganized and severely outnumbered without those who had fallen atop the Astronomy Tower. His friends would have to wait.

"How many Death Eaters remain in the castle?" Dumbledore asked Snape, leaning heavily against him.

"No more than two," said Snape, looking back at Harry. "I believe the vast majority of them were incinerated by Mr. Potter. From what I was able to gather, a small group of students watching over the seventh floor witnessed the arrival of several Death Eaters, and Order members were summoned to repel the attack."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore," and the Mark?"

"It has been burning for the last ten minutes or so," Snape muttered, clutching his left arm. "He'll know something has gone wrong."

"What of the Vow?" asked Dumbledore, lowering his voice.

"I cannot be sure."

Sooner than Harry had expected, they arrived at the stone gargoyle. It slid aside without being prompted, but Harry did not notice it as he passed. Silence reigned as the three of them stood rising slowly in the ascending staircase, before they shuffled quietly into the darkness of the Headmaster's Office.

Snape slashed his wand, and candles flared to life as he quickly maneuvered Dumbledore into the throne-like chair behind the desk. Fawkes descended from his perch in a flutter of scarlet wings, landing on the edge of the desk to fawn over his master. Reaching into his robes, Snape quickly withdrew several vials and handed them to the Headmaster.

"Drink these," ordered Snape. "They will help you to regain some strength. I will see what I can do."

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore, steam pouring from his ears as color returned to his aging face. "You did well."

Snape, already in the midst of a mind-numbingly complex series of wand movements, frowned heavily as he worked. "Obviously not."

He settled into a pattern of concentrated spellwork, and Fawkes leapt up from the desk, taking flight once more. The phoenix was quiet as it flew above them, rounding the circular edges of the office. He eventually perched upon Harry's shoulder, and let out a resounding cry. The piercing quality of the sound seemed to restore clarity to his thoughts, and he felt considerably calmer as melodious warmth flooded his chest. The bird's talons squeezed the flesh of his shoulder firmly, grounding him in the moment, and Harry was thankful for its presence.

"I feel the worst of it has passed," said Dumbledore when he had finished his potions, and Snape had finished waving his wand. "I assume you will need to brew more specialized treatments?"

Snape said nothing, but his scowl was noticeably deeper as he turned to leave.

"Have Minerva summon the Aurors when you are done, if you would," Dumbledore called to his retreating from. "They will need to be notified of the situation."

Dumbledore waited patiently until the door had shut, before he turned to Harry with a curious frown.

"I feel I owe you an apology for tonight's events, Harry," Dumbledore began. "I have failed once again to explain things properly, and you were the more endangered for my mistake."

"What haven't you told me?" Harry asked, wary at the thought of more secrecy.

"Professor Snape was indeed going to end my life tonight," said Dumbledore, looking older than Harry had ever seen him. "But only because I asked him to."

Harry said nothing, staring at the Headmaster in stunned silence. "_What_?"

"I once told you, when you asked me what had happened to my hand, that it was a story for another time," said Dumbledore, raising his blackened hand. The curse had crept gradually past his wrist, leaving the appendage more desiccated and shrunken than Harry had ever seen it. "I suppose that now is as good a time as any.

"As you know, a few days before I came to retrieve you from your aunt's house, I was able to destroy Marvolo's ring. There was a terrible curse upon it, and had it not been for Professor Snape, I would have lost both my hand and my life that very night. Together, we were able to slow the curse's progression, but death cannot be delayed forever," he continued sadly, letting the sleeve of his robe fall over his hand, hiding it from view.

"We estimated that I had a year at best," said Dumbledore, "and I began to make plans for my death, and the management of my estate. I knew, of course, that Draco Malfoy had been ordered to assassinate me. I do not believe Voldemort ever thought he would succeed, and plans were made for Professor Snape to complete the task in his stead.

"I thought I could preserve Draco's innocence, and place Severus closer to Lord Voldemort than he had ever been in a single master stroke. Being tortured into insanity at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange sounded no more appealing to me than being mutilated and devoured by Fenrir Greyback, and so I sought to die a painless death at the hand of Severus Snape."

Fawkes trilled softly, and Harry said nothing as he tried to absorb what Dumbledore was telling him. He had known that Malfoy was behind the attacks all along, as Harry made attempt after attempt at warning him of Malfoy's activities. Moreover, he had known what Harry had been utterly unable to discover: the underlying motive for each and every one of them. Dumbledore had always been the target; everyone else had just gotten in the way.

Harry stood up, and Fawkes fluttered over to his perch. He folded his wings, and surveyed them quietly.

"You knew it was Malfoy the entire time, didn't you?" Harry asked, unable to keep the accusation and betrayal out of his voice.

"Harry, I—"

"We could have stopped him!" Harry shouted, interrupting him in anger. "Ron almost died! And so did Katie!"

"I was trying to save—"

"Who cares about _them_?" Harry asked incredulously. "They're _already_ Death Eaters! What about Ron? What about Katie? _They're_ the ones fighting to protect the school! What if_ I'd_ been poisoned? Neither Ron nor Slughorn would have _ever_ thought to use a bezoar! Are you insane?"

"I told Severus to keep an eye on him, as a safeguard against such methods," Dumbledore replied quietly, voice faded with sorrow. "I did not anticipate the boy's capacity for destruction."

"And _then_ he let the Death Eaters in!" Harry continued, enraged by Dumbledore's reckless complacency. "What if I hadn't given _Felix Felices_ to my friends and had them _watch_ the Room of Requirement? The Death Eaters would have had free reign over the entire school!"

Dumbledore remained silent.

"For someone who's supposed to be so bloody intelligent," Harry ranted, "you still manage to come up with the shittiest plans!"

The Headmasters were now gasping and muttering indignantly in their frames, not even pretending to be asleep."Such a _rude_ boy!"

"I apologize, Harry," said Dumbledore, voice weak with grief. "I made a terrible mistake in underestimating the threat he would pose to other students."

"Don't apologize to me," Harry muttered, subdued by Dumbledore's remorse. "I was with _you_. They were the ones at risk."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, before he returned his gaze to the surface of his desk. His shoulders seemed to sag with guilt, and his expression was heavy with quiet resignation.

"There was one other reason," said Dumbledore after a long pause, staring down at the ring, "that I sought to die at the hand of Professor Snape tonight."

He rose from behind the desk, and began to move about the room slowly. He approached his bookshelf, and pulled down a tome of indeterminate age. It was finely-bound, with illustrations done in gold filigree fluttering softly over the cover and across the spine.

"Tell me, what made you choose to use my wand instead of your own?" he asked, a strange sort of curiosity in his eyes as he returned to his seat.

Harry frowned thoughtfully, looking down at the wand in his hands. It was crafted with a mastery he had never encountered, but it felt positively ancient, and the wood was well-worn and rugged with age.

"I had to put mine away to catch yours, and then…I don't know," said Harry, feeling strange as he articulated his thoughts. "It just felt…right. There was something about using _your_ wand. I mean, I've seen you duel Voldemort to a standstill with this wand."

"It is extraordinary," said Dumbledore, acknowledging his words with an understanding nod, "but I feel I must warn you, that it is far more even than it appears."

"I figured there must be something," said Harry. "I've never cast a fire spell like that in my entire life."

"It has a tendency to do that," Dumbledore explained, gazing at it with a wry grin. "I often find myself astonished by its power, even after all these years."

"How old is it?" Harry asked, holding it up and examining it closely. "Is it one of Ollivander's?"

"No," said Dumbledore, his gaze thoughtful and contemplative. "It is far too ancient for that. As far as I have been able to discover, it was made well before the fifteenth century, and first belonged to a man named Antioch."

"Antioch..." Harry repeated, mystified by the antiquity of the name.

"Are you familiar with _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, indicating the large book resting on his desk.

"I've never heard of them," Harry answered, embarrassed once again by his ignorance of the wizarding world. He had only ever learned what needed to be explained.

"According to one of its more popular fables, the wand is one of three enchanted items said to possess unrivaled power over life and death," Dumbledore explained. "Collectively, they are known as the Deathly Hallows."

"The Deathly Hallows?" Harry asked. "What were the other two?"

Dumbledore chuckled, and opened the book resting on the desk. He turned its pages by hand, seeming to revel in the chance to do things differently for a change. He finally stopped near the end of the book, at what appeared to be the last of the fables contained within its pages, and began to read aloud:

"_There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight_—"

"I always liked to think it was midnight," said Dumbledore, frowning as he paused to reconsider the book. "Hmm."

"_In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure._

"_And Death spoke to them_—"

"Sorry," interjected Harry, "but _Death_ spoke to them?"

"We must all confront him at some point, Harry," said Dumbledore, smiling indulgently. "Literature often personifies the forces of nature, to relate to them in ways we previously had not."

"Right," said Harry, frowning thoughtfully. "Sorry. Go on."

"_And Death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of the three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him._

"_So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother._

"_Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead._

"_And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility_."

"Death's got an Invisibility Cloak?" Harry interrupted again.

"I have found," said Dumbledore, smiling as he adjusted the half-moon spectacles perched upon his nose, "that hardly anyone ever sees him coming.

"_Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way, and they did so talking with wonder of the adventure they had had and admiring Death's gifts._

"_In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination._

"_The first brother traveled on for a week more, and reaching a distant village, sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible._

"_That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand and for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat._

"_And so Death took the first brother for his own._

"_Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him._

"_Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as to truly join her._

"_And so Death took the second brother for his own._

"_But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life._'"

"So…the Wand, the Cloak, and the Stone?" Harry asked. "Are those the Deathly Hallows?"

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, nodding in acknowledgement. "The one to possess all three is said to have mastered death itself. By planning my own death, I sought to destroy the power of the Wand."

"Could this be it then?" he asked, examining the Wand. "The 'Power He Knows Not?'"

Dumbledore shook his head, frowning with what seemed to be disappointment. "I do not think so. The Wand is an artifact of incredible power, but power is something Voldemort knows very well."

Seeing Harry's dejected look, he continued.

"Voldemort's magical talent has never been the greatest of his powers. That has always been his ability to inspire fear, doubt, and loathing. They are his most insidious tools, and he uses them with frightening proficiency. You must fight his fear with love, Harry. Just as surely as Voldemort can inspire fear, you have the power to help those you love overcome it.

"Your friends do not love you because you are talented, Harry. They love you because you care for them, and because they know that you would give your life to protect them. And in return, they would be willing to give theirs for you. That is your most exceptional ability, and it is far greater and more powerful than any you could gain from the Wand.

"Love is still your greatest weapon, Harry," said Dumbledore. "It will be the difference between mastering the Wand and merely possessing it."

Harry could only nod in understanding. It had taken him an entire year to finally understand what Dumbledore was talking about.

"That is not to say it won't be an enormous blessing," said Dumbledore, grinning slightly. "But I do not want you to _rely_ on its power. It has carved a bloody path through history, and though you had never heard of it before, many other wizards have. It would therefore behoove you to remain silent, and tell _no one_ that you have it. In addition, I must ask you to keep it upon your person at all times, as you do with the Cloak. It would do no good for it to be stolen in your absence.

"But you must not use it," he said, fixing Harry with his most piercing gaze, "unless you have _no other option_. It must be a last resort."

Harry nodded.

"I want you to _promise_ me, Harry" said Dumbledore, in the same tone he had used just before they left to find Slytherin's locket.

"I understand, sir," said Harry, staring down at the Wand and wondering how much blood had been spilt on its behalf. "I won't use it unless I absolutely have to."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, smiling at him.

"How did it end up with you, sir?" Harry asked, wondering more about the history of his professor than he ever had before.

"Alas," said Dumbledore, as a sad look came across his face, "_that_ is a story for another time."

He smiled when he saw the look on Harry's face, and raised his uninjured hand in a placating gesture. "Worry not, Harry. I shall tell you everything soon, for there is little time left in which to do so."

The door opened, and Snape reentered the office carrying a goblet full of steaming amber liquid. He placed it on the desk, and swept away as Dumbledore began to drink it slowly.

He stopped behind Harry's chair, and Harry had to turn around in his seat to see what he was doing. Snape flicked his wand, and an enormous, unconscious figure clad in dark robes hovered in from the stairwell, before it fell to the ground in front of him in a deflated heap.

He then reached into his robes, and brought out what looked to be a dead ferret with filthy white fur. He let it fall to the floor, and gave a careless gesture of his wand. In the blink of an eye, the transfiguration had been undone, and the corpse of Draco Malfoy lay still and broken next to the tightly-bound Death Eater.

"The remaining Death Eater was killed by a stray curse from _this_ one," he said, nudging the bound Death Eater with his foot for emphasis."I have yet to interrogate him."

"By all means," said Dumbledore, folding his hands beneath his chin and nodding in Snape's direction. "Do so."

Snape raised his wand, and pointed it at the Death Eater. "_Rennervate_!"

The Death Eater stirred fitfully, and gasped as he regained consciousness. Before he had time to do anything, however, Snape was forcing a clear potion down his throat. The Death Eater slumped pitifully, making a low bleating noise as the Veritaserum overpowered his senses. Snape leaned over him, and yanked his head back.

"_Legilimens_!"

After a few seconds, the body of the Death Eater began to convulse; foam and drool leaked from the corners of his mouth. Snape dropped his head unceremoniously, and stood to face Dumbledore.

"They were allowed access to the castle through an old Vanishing Cabinet located on the seventh floor," said Snape. "It was half of a pair. The other is at Borgin & Burkes."

Harry's eyes widened in horrified understanding, and everything came together with sudden clarity. He had seen _both_ of those cabinets, and still failed to put it together.

Dumbledore sighed, closing his eyes and lowering his head in saddened realization.

"The cabinets will of course have to be destroyed," he muttered, opening his eyes and frowning thoughtfully.

"I know where one of them is," said Harry in a quiet voice, remembering the times he had passed it in the Room of Requirement. "I can take care of it."

Dumbledore examined him for a moment, and Harry had the familiar feeling of being x-rayed. He nodded once, and turned back to Snape.

"Longbottom is in the Hospital Wing," Snape continued, sneering as he mentioned Neville. "He shall make a full recovery. I was forced to stun Filius on my way to the Tower, but he is being seen to as well. Bill Weasley, on the other hand, sustained a number of rather serious injuries in a confrontation with Greyback."

"Oh, dear," said Dumbledore, looking distressed at the thought of Greyback confronting anyone. "Was Madame Pomfrey able to heal any of the wounds?"

"She has made a request for your assistance."

Dumbledore nodded, and leaned down to open the bottom drawer of his massive desk. Harry heard the drawer shut, and Dumbledore reemerged from behind the desk holding a rather lengthy wand. He swished it experimentally, and chuckled as blue and silver sparks shot from the tip.

"In light of recent events," he said, glancing at the Death Eater lying catatonic in the center of the room, "I think it would be in our best interests for you to resume your instruction in Occlumency, Harry."

He was forced to raise his hands for silence, as both Harry and Snape began to protest at the same time.

"I am well aware of your mutual dislike," said Dumbledore, disapproval evident upon his face. "I will see to your instruction myself."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, knowing he had been given a rare opportunity.

"Think nothing of it, Harry," Dumbledore replied, gazing at him affectionately. "That's how it should have been in the first place."

"Will that be all, Headmaster?" Snape asked, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else.

"It is _well_ past curfew," Dumbledore conceded, looking over the rims of his spectacles at Harry. "And you seem in need of sleep."

Harry nodded, recognizing that he had been dismissed. "Goodnight, sir."

"I shall summon you to my office within a few days time," said Dumbledore as Harry stood, and walked over to the door. Snape waited until the door had snapped shut, before he turned his irritated gaze to the Headmaster.

"What am I supposed to do about the Vow?" Snape asked him, looking frustrated and afraid. "I should be dead!"

"It is very old magic," Dumbledore replied, considering the matter carefully. "It could be any number of things."

"How?" Snape wondered, sounding perplexed as he paced back and forth in front of the desk. "I don't understand it…"

"Both the subject and the caster of the Vow are now deceased," Dumbledore reminded him, articulating his thoughts as they formed. "It may also be that you satisfied the mandates of the spell in your genuine attempt to kill me."

"I was going to do it," muttered Snape, his face contorted in bitter resentment. "Everything was prepared."

"Perhaps it was not a very good plan to begin with," said Dumbledore, gazing at the chair Harry had occupied just minutes before.

"I told you!" Snape snarled, jabbing a finger in Dumbledore's direction. "He is every _bit_ as reckless as his father was!"

"That may be true," said Dumbledore, frowning thoughtfully, "but he has his mother's wisdom."

"What am I going to tell the Dark Lord?" Snape demanded, looking sickened and angry at Dumbledore's words. "I was supposed to kill you, and Bellatrix is dead!"

"Tell him the truth," Dumbledore suggested, raising his eyebrows. "Harry ruined everyone's plans tonight. His are no different. Once the other Death Eaters were dispatched, you would have had to act your part until you could return to his side."

"Fair enough," muttered Snape, moving to approach the door. "What are _you_ going to do?"

"First, I shall pay a visit to Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, fiddling with his wand.

"And then?"

"I believe I am long overdue for a visit to Borgin and Burke's."

* * *

The halls of the school were empty as Harry passed through them, and his very bones seemed to ache with fatigue, but he had one last stop to make. His echoing footsteps were the only sound this late at night, and Harry savored the rare moment of solitude.

He smiled as the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy came into view, and proceeded to the opposite end of the corridor. He stood before the empty stretch of wall, and began to pace the floor in front of it.

_I need a place to hide my book._

He looked back as he passed for the third time, and the door was already there. He opened it cautiously, as though Death Eaters might be waiting on the other side, and stepped into the room. He could not help but be amazed at the towering stacks of junk, as he made his way through centuries of unwanted or forbidden objects.

And there it was, sitting innocently amidst the dunes of trash. The doors stood ajar, thrown open in haste, and the shadowed abyss within it seemed too deep to be natural. Harry withdrew his holly wand, and smiled as its comforting warmth spread through him.

He raised his wand, gripping it harder as he aimed it directly at the cupboard. "_Reducto_!"

The cabinet crumbled, and clouds of dust rose from it as it was reduced to a pile of wooden shards.

_Evanesco__!_

Harry flicked his wand, and the pile vanished. He then made his way to the left, until he reached another large cabinet with a blistered surface, and the bust of an old warlock's head perched on top of it. He ran his fingers over the cratered wood, and opened the cupboard door. The Half-Blood Prince's textbook sat untouched, and Harry lifted it gently from the shelf, before closing the cupboard once more.

He made his way out of the Room of Requirement, pausing outside to make sure the door had vanished back into wall before he departed for Gryffindor Tower.


	3. The Witching Hour

Snape's footsteps echoed quietly in the dimly lit, opulent hallways of Malfoy Manor as he hastened to meet the more impatient of his two masters. Portraits of blond, sneering wizards glared at him from the walls, and he pointedly ignored them as he passed. The house was almost palatial in its proportions, and Snape had never had any patience for navigating its many halls and rooms accompanied by the expensive images of spoiled, self-indulgent wizards who were just like the one in possession of it now. Having reached the end of another long, richly carpeted corridor, he descended a steep flight of stairs to the levels below.

He came to a heavy wooden door at the bottom of the stairs, and opened it with a tap of his wand. He raised the wand over his head, and light flared from its tip as he moved into the dark, cramped space of the dungeons. Every inch of the place was covered in dirt, or worse, and an incessant chill seemed to permeate the air of the stone passageways.

He spared the various prisoners no attention as he passed their filth-ridden cages, but he was forced to come to a jerking halt as a wrinkled hand clutched at his robes from between the bars of a cell to his right. Garrick Ollivander's silvery eyes peered at him from sockets hollowed by age and starvation, staring with a lucidity that did not befit the treatment he had received at the hands of the Dark Lord.

"Severus," he whispered. "Please, help me."

"I cannot," murmured Snape, freeing himself. "Not yet, at least. The Dark Lord beckons."

As he reached the other end of the passage, he raised his left arm and hissed out a guttural password. He waited patiently as bricks near the middle of the wall began to spin and fall away, receding into what appeared to be an endless void until a small doorway had been revealed. Everything beyond the threshold was pitch-black, and he held his wand higher as he stepped through.

He stood before a set of narrow, tightly spiraling stone steps, reaching down into the bowels of the earth, and he did not hesitate as he began his descent. He had been here before.

The stairs ended in a wider platform, leading to a pair of iron doors twice the height of an average man, engraved with writhing illustrations of serpents crawling through the gaping jaws and empty sockets of rotten skulls. They opened silently as he approached, and he did not have to slow his pace as he entered the Dark Lord's chambers.

Voldemort stood at the back of a cavernous room, with Nagini coiled lazily around his feet. The walls and floor of the cave had been carved out of rough, black stone, and the ceiling was too high up to be seen from the ground, shrouded in impenetrable darkness. He was situated before a large fireplace, red eyes glowing from beneath his hood, and Death Eaters lined the walls, unmasked in the company of their master. The inner circle had been summoned. Or whatever was left of it.

"We had begun to think you wouldn't make it, Severus," said the Dark Lord, fingers curling around his wand as Snape came to kneel before him. "What happened to the others?"

The presence of the Dark Lord seemed to press itself against his senses, and he fought to remain calm and keep his thoughts in check as Voldemort stared into his eyes.

"Thorfinn was captured after a stray curse of his killed Jugson," Snape answered in an even voice. "The others were killed in the attempt on Dumbledore's life. Draco Malfoy was the first to die."

One of the Death Eaters to his right, presumably Lucius, let out a muffled sort of sob, but it was not acknowledged, and Snape continued dispassionately.

"After their demise, I was forced to administer aid to the Headmaster in order to retain my cover. I came as soon as I could."

"How did they die?" inquired Voldemort, narrowing his eyes at Snape, and continuing to act as though Lucius did not exist. "And how did _you_ survive?"

"Draco was sent to confront Dumbledore alone," Snape replied, as Lucius shuddered in silent misery. "From the number of bodies at the scene when I arrived, he was dead by the time they arrived to provide support. Dumbledore was utterly powerless, but under the protection of Harry Potter, however surprising that may be."

Voldemort's eyes widened by a fraction of an inch, but he did not speak as Snape went on.

"Before I could reach them, the boy was able to summon an inferno," he explained. "The rest of the Death Eaters perished in the flames, and I thought it better to remain hidden."

"The boy commands Fiendfyre?" wondered Voldemort, seemingly perplexed.

"I do not know what spell he used," Snape admitted, legitimately irritated by his inability to recognize the magic. "But it was…rather difficult to defend against. Resistant, if you will, to most methods of shielding. I do not believe the others possessed the skill to repel the attack."

"Not even Bellatrix?" he finally asked, finding it hard to believe that one of his most devoted followers had been unable to survive against a child. It was perhaps the most concern Snape had ever seen him show for anyone.

"She looked to be suffering the aftereffects of extensive torture when I arrived," said Snape, grimacing as he remembered. "Potter may have been responsible, but I doubt he has the nerve to properly cast such a curse. It is more likely that it was somehow reflected. Only she would have the skill to incapacitate herself with that particular curse."

"Interesting," muttered the Dark Lord, as though speaking to himself. Nagini had slithered up to wrap herself loosely about his neck, and he paced before the hearth in thought. "He has foiled my plans before, yes, but only through luck, or the sacrifice of others. I had assumed he was too weak to make any difference in this."

"He rapidly approaches the age of majority," reasoned Snape, glad to be discussing something about which he had to tell no lies. "If he were ever going to show any talent, now would be the time."

"Indeed," murmured Voldemort, absentmindedly stroking Nagini. "He is coming into his own, and time grows short. He will be dealt with soon. And Dumbledore?"

"He lives," answered Snape, staring at the floor as murmurs of dissent rose from the Death Eaters.

"While I am most certainly disappointed," said the Dark Lord, coming to a stop, "I can hardly be the one to blame you for encountering difficulties where Harry Potter is concerned. It is why I intend to dispose of him myself."

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively and Snape rose from his kneeling position, drifting over to the left. He turned to the quivering man beside him, and lowered his hood to reveal the unnaturally pale skin of his head and face.

"Lucius," he whispered softly.

The man in question lifted bloodshot eyes to meet his gaze, wearing an expression of almost vacant resignation. Voldemort could feel his reckless apathy, and he inhaled deeply as though he could smell it in the air. "Your son's death shall not go unpunished. They have grown bold in our absence, but we will teach them fear again.

"Yaxley," he called, speaking to a healthy-looking, well-dressed man from the group of Death Eaters to his right, "have the Edgecombe woman connect us to the Floo."

* * *

It was the middle of the night, and Diagon Alley was deserted. The stores had long been closed, and hardly anything but crumpled paper made a sound in the muted darkness of the thoroughfare. The telltale crack of Apparation was absent as Dumbledore popped into existence in the middle of the street, and even his cloak remained silent as it fluttered in the wind.

He rapped himself over the head with his wand, and shivered at the feeling of cold liquid oozing down his spine. In seconds, he was utterly invisible, and he made his way with careful steps into the depths of Knockturn Alley. The storefronts became progressively shadier as he ventured further down the alley, festering in filth and disrepair.

When he had reached a certain point about halfway down the narrow street, he looked up to confirm that he had arrived at Borgin and Burke's. The sign was worn, and Burke's name had faded from the swollen, rotting wood. He raised his wand again, and made a complex gesture as he approached the dirty, glass door of the shop.

Instead of pausing to open it, he simply passed through it, as though it were no more than an illusion. He remained silent and invisible, and Borgin did not look up as he entered. He sat alone at a low table, looking over papers with a stack of books beside him by the light of a single, guttering candle. His oily blonde hair had been tied back in haste, his face was covered in a layer of stubble, and it looked as though he had not slept in days.

Dumbledore moved toward the corner of the store, taking time to examine the most interesting curios as he passed. He gazed for a moment at the vast collection of hideous masks, jagged knives, and gleaming instruments before turning his eyes to the man sitting at the table.

As Borgin continued to work, Dumbledore dispelled his charms, and waited to be perceived. A few more seconds passed, and Borgin stilled. He looked up at Dumbledore, and let out a startled yelp as he leapt out of his chair, snatching his wand off the table.

"Jesus—"

"Good evening, Mr. Borgin," said Dumbledore, smiling pleasantly.

"_Stupefy_!"

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the spell dissolved into a harmless, fine red mist. "Come now, Mr. Borgin, there is hardly any need for that."

"W-why are you here?" Borgin demanded, trying to regain his composure.

"I came to see about a pair of Vanishing Cabinets," Dumbledore said pleasantly, staring at the cupboard against the wall. "They were recently used to infiltrate my school, you see."

"Look," said Borgin, raising his hands as his voice shook, "they just came in. They didn't say where—"

"That does not matter now," said Dumbledore, interrupting him. "It would hardly be your first time doing business with the servants of Voldemort."

Borgin cringed at the sound of the name, and glared at Dumbledore. "What do you want?"

Dumbledore stepped forward, and Borgin retreated as the world began to shift. He felt stifled as the air grew warm, and the corners of the room seemed to bend around the towering figure of the Headmaster, warping and twisting as the light dimmed. Silence pressed against his ears, and Dumbledore's voice was terrible as it shattered the oppressive stillness of the shop.

"I want you to tell me everything you ever knew about Tom Riddle."

The shopkeeper's eyes grew wide, and his face paled as he remembered the name. It was one he had never expected to hear again.

"Please," he said in a trembling voice, holding up his hands and trying to back himself further into the wall. "Please. I'll tell you everything."

"I know," said Dumbledore, raising his wand as he approached. "I intend to make sure of it."

* * *

From within the shadows of the spreading trees, he could not be seen. He stood at the edge of the Burrow's defenses, and the pale wood of his wand felt cool beneath his fingertips as he closed his eyes, extending his senses.

The spells were powerful, and he could feel them vibrating softly against his magic. But it had never been about power. Not in this respect, at least. They had never been able to understand why it was that hardly any defensive enchantment could deter him. They had always assumed that he simply overwhelmed them, and while he supposed that was possible, he had more efficient ways of doing things.

He focused his mind, ridding himself of thought and emotion as he opened his eyes. These wards were made for men, for mortals. He was _more_. And less. They would not delay him.

Like water seeping through cracks in the pavement, the Dark Lord _squeezed_ himself through the enchantments, slipping _between_ them. His being was fragmented, diluted in a way that allowed him to bypass obstacles other wizards could not. The protections around the house seemed to part around his form, passing over him in cascades of fluid intent, and he caressed his head slowly as he emerged from the other side of the barriers unhindered, pausing to breathe again. Everything was intact.

Voldemort remained unseen, cloaked in shadow under the very same tree. It had only been a matter of stepping through. He made his way through the tall grass quickly, but the sound of footsteps did not betray him. He was all but gliding as he approached, and the soft rustle of plant life was all there was to be heard.

Lit windows flickered warmly in the night, and he raised his wand as he moved closer to the house. The light coming from the windows was instantly snuffed out, and a shadow unlike any other fell across the sky. The moonlight faded, the stars blinked out, and the entire property was plunged into an impossibly deep, unnatural sort of darkness.

"Arthur?" wondered a voice from inside the house. "Arthur, what's going on?"

A small pinpoint of light near the shed, almost invisible against the smothering darkness, followed by a voice.

"I don't kno—" Arthur was never allowed to finish his statement, and his voice cut out with a muffled choke as Voldemort seized his throat in a vice-like grip far too strong for such a thin frame. The balding wizard's hands scratched uselessly at the Dark Lord's wrist as he was lifted off the ground by his neck, and thrown thirty feet across the yard as though he weighed no more than a piece of fruit.

He landed in shattered heap of blood and broken bones, moaning pitifully into the night as he heard the now audible steps his attacker grow near.

"Molly," he screamed, his words garbled and hard to decipher through the blood in his mouth, "run! It's him!"

These turned out to be his final words, but it did not matter, for Voldemort had made sure that nothing would be heard. There was guttural snarl, and blinding green light lanced out across the field in a streaking bolt. Viridian light washed over the corpse, and Arthur Weasley knew no more.

"Arthur?" called the voice again, frantic now. "What's going on? Arthur?"

He turned to face the crooked house behind him, seeing clearly where it was though all others would see nothing. It was an abyss only he could penetrate. He pointed his wand directly at the house, and watched as all the windows shut. The doors clicked as locks fell into place, and there was a squelching noise as any way in or out of the building was tightly sealed. Breathing in slowly, he flourished his wand above his head.

A raging conflagration erupted from where he stood, searing the air and twisting with frightening speed into a monolithic serpent of explosive flame. It was hissing fiercely, coiled protectively around its master, and he controlled it effortlessly.

He gestured in the direction of the house, and the infernal monstrosity moved to do his bidding. It curled endlessly about the creaking, splintering husk of the Burrow, leaving trails of fire and destruction in its wake.

Horrid screams were echoing from inside the house, and he could hear the woman scrambling to find an exit as living flames engulfed her home. His fiery construct had reached the apex of the towering hovel in an instant, and as the Dark Lord slashed downward with his wand, it opened its jaws and plunged its head down through the center of the building, causing every window to explode as the Burrow was incinerated from within.

The screams continued, weaker than before, and interspersed with choking, anguished moans. The door to the back yard rattled on its hinges as whoever was inside tried to escape, but they could never hope to open a door Lord Voldemort had locked.

The pounding against the door was coming to a stop, and hundreds of miles away, on the other side of the British Isle, Harry Potter was waking up.


End file.
